Gifts
by Tyanilth
Summary: NSFW. This is a missing chapter of The Hourglass, set after Chapter 37 and about two days before The Art of War. Presented separately here because of M rating, and with warnings for mature themes. Not graphic . Answers the cliffhangers in Chapter 37.


_**Author's note - this is a missing chapter of The Hourglass, set after Chapter 37 and about two days before The Art of War. Presented separately here because of M rating, and with warnings for consensual sex. Answers a couple of cliffhangers in Chapter 37. Acknowledgements to the anonymous author on the DA kink meme who wrote that wonderful pre-Origins piece No Quarter Given...if you've read it, you'll know why. :) Muirnara's words in bold are from the Vulgate Bible, from the Gospel of John, and her translation of that verse is the King James version.**_

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><p>Muirnara's back was turned to the door as Loghain entered the apartments. She was standing at the window that looked out towards the river, but she did not appear to be studying the rebuilding city. Her eyes were on her scarred hands, her right hand gently flexing the individual fingers of the left hand one at a time, the tension across her shoulders told Loghain more than words ever could about how much effort it was costing her.<p>

Walking up behind her he rested his hands gently on her shoulders. "They're getting better, you know." he told her softly. "You have almost full use of your right hand now. Enchanter Amell told you that the left hand would take a lot longer. Magic can't hurry everything along."

"I know." She turned her head to drop a kiss on the hand resting on her right shoulder. "But I feel like a prisoner in the castle. I daren't walk out of Denerim's gates when I still can't wield my blades, the Darkspawn may be gone but the bandits are still out there preying on refugees. What is it about a war that brings out the worst in some people and the best in others?"

"I think that people have been asking that question since the beginning of time, Muirnara." He took her hands in his and turned them over, studying their palms. "You could wield a blade with your right hand, that is all but healed. I know you can't make a fist with your left hand, so an offhand dagger is impossible, but you could wear a small shield strapped to your left arm? I know you were trained in shieldwork before you took to dual wielding, it would come back to you very fast at need."

Muirnara considered this. "That might work."

He nodded. "Let's go and talk to the palace armorer, whereever he is. They can't have stripped the entire armory during the siege, surely."

The palace armory had indeed been stripped of much of its stock, and the Armorer was muttering darkly over a box of assorted damaged metal when they got there, but he brightened when they explained their request. "Certainly, Wardens." He studied Muirnara for a minute, then smiled. "I have something here that I think you may even recognise."

He bent double to rummage in a chest under one of the long tables, cursing about the dust, and then straightened up with a darkened metal shield in his hands. "Needs a good clean, it must have been in there for years. But look." He turned it towards her and she could see the Highever laurels around the rim. "Was it yours originally, Warden Commander?"

She shook her head and took it into her hands. "I think this was my brother's shield, from when he was about fourteen. He went on to a full weight shield a year or so after that." She slipped it over her arm and tested the balance. "It's a little heavy for me, but it's more that I'm unused to a shield these days."

"It will soon come back to you, my lady...Warden Commander." The Armorer's words were kind. "Shieldwork is a skill you never lose if you learned it well, and I knew your weaponsmaster from Highever for many years. A pity he ever retired, I know King Maric attempted to poach him from your lord father many times, with no success. A good man and a good teacher. Get Teyrn Loghain...sorry, Warden Loghain here to give you a few rounds in the salle to get a feel of it again."

She winced. "I know you are right, ser. But my first attempts at this style again are not going to be pleasant to watch, and it is very hard to get privacy for practice in this place. I would rather they did not look at me and think that Ser Karriss taught me this badly."

"Why don't we go out then?" Loghain had been smiling wryly at the conversation. "It's early morning, we could take food for a noonday meal and ride out."

There were warring emotions on Muirnara's face. "Oh, to get out of this place would be bliss, just to have a few hours where nobody wanted me to do anything. But you remember what I said about horses, Loghain? I seriously have not ridden a horse in several years, on the few times we came to Denerim my mother and I travelled in a carriage."

"More than time that you tried again, then." Loghain's words were firm. "Go and change into the oldest, softest pair of leather breeches you can find, and your mail shirt. I will drop by the kitchens and pick up some food. You can meet me in the Mabari paddock, I'll ask the Ash Warriors to take Hazel and the pup till the evening."

"When are you going to give that puppy a name?"

"Unfortunately he's already got one. Because his dam is Hazel, my daughter suggested Cobnut for the puppy - and as I could have told her would happen, it immediately got shortened to Nut. And now he answers to it. Alistair apparently thinks the whole thing is hilarious, which would tell you all you needed to know about the infantile level of his humour if you didn't already know anyway." His voice was amused.

She nodded. "There aren't many horses in the stables even now. Do you think they can find me something quiet?"

For some reason that seemed to amuse Loghain even more. "I can guarantee you that they will."

When she came down to the paddock a little later, a groom was holding two saddled horses. She recognised the raw-boned bay stallion immediately, he had been Loghain's mount for over ten years. Technically like all Loghain's possessions the horse had been forfeited to the Crown when the Landsmeet found Loghain guilty. Anora had circumvented the problem neatly by gifting the horse back to her father after the death of the Archdemon. But the other horse... She realised she was staring with her mouth open at the roan mare who was lipping gently at a slice of carrot that Loghain was feeding her.

"I have never seen a horse that beautiful." The words were little more than a whisper.

"Oh good." Loghain turned back towards her. "Because there might be a little problem in returning your bride gift now if you did not like her. I think the merchant is halfway back to Antiva by now."

"You bought her for me?" She was running an hand cautiously down the mare's neck, the horse leaned into the caress.

"I did. She was delivered to the Palace yesterday night. I was looking for a good excuse to take you out riding today, and you neatly handed one to me." He was checking the girths on both horses as he spoke. The stallion had two small leather packs attached to his saddle, one of them clearly contained a wineskin. "And if you were afraid you would look a fool sparring in the salle with a shield you were unused to carrying, then you really don't want to know how much of a fool I looked last night riding a mare this size. I wasn't going to let you on her without being certain that her manners were as good as the dealer claimed. She behaved impeccably, but I could see from the smirks on the faces of that elf and dwarf just how silly I looked. I was just relieved that my prospective son in law did not turn up to watch the show."

He was apparently satisfied that both horses were correctly saddled. He turned back to Muirnara. "I wasn't going to insult you with a leading rein, unless you were literally so terrified that you would not get on the horse without it. That mare is as quiet and well mannered a ride as you could ask for, and we need do nothing except walk until you want to try something more."

There was a cowardly bit of her mind that would have liked to find some good reason to request the despised leading rein, but she nodded, gathered up the reins in her scarred left hand and mounted, a little clumsily, but the mare seemed tolerant of her fumblings. Loghain watched her for a minute, then gave an approving nod and mounted his own horse. He leaned down towards the groom. "Please tell the Queen we will be back by nightfall, and that you have absolutely no idea which way we went."

The man touched his forelock with a cheeky grin. "Nobody will find out from me, Warden. Enjoy your day."

They rode out of Denerim's Westgate, taking the road north towards the Coastlands, but as soon as they were out of sight of the city gates, Loghain turned off the main road and led the way down a little used track that wound up into the hills for several miles. The Blight had left the land here almost untouched, and it seemed that the earth was trying to make up for lost time everywhere else, although spring was some weeks away still all the trees were budding and there were sprays of Andraste's Grace in the winter-pale grass, flowering a month earlier than they should have been. Muirnara cautiously urged the mare forward to walk by Loghain's stirrup when the track widened a little to allow two to ride side by side. He looked down at her. "All right?"

"Yes." Muirnara looked up the hill. "How did you know this track was here?"

"I wasn't sure that it still would be. I came here many years ago. At some point there was a smallholding high in these hills - Maric and I found it when we rode out one day. The records in Denerim show that this land belonged to a family with the name of Salaric, but the last known member of that clan died over fifty years ago, and if he had any heirs they never claimed this place - the land was probably too poor and too inaccessible to make it worth the effort. When we came here we found a derelict house, and a large stone barn that was still intact. I am hoping that both are still there, because," he added with a glance at the sky, "I would lay money that it is going to rain within the hour."

He changed the subject. "You never did tell me why you were so afraid of horses? I remember you from my one or two visits to Highever as a confident child with an adored pony, what happened after that?"

The mare stumbled on a rough bit of the track and Muirnara clutched at a handful of mane to steady herself, not caring if Loghain laughed at her. He didn't. But he did seem to be expecting an answer to his question.

"I suppose you could say I paid the price for overconfidence. Being five years younger than Fergus, what generally happened was that as he outgrew a pony it was passed on to me. This worked very well until I was sixteen, and he was given his first destrier. The horse he had been riding up until then was a well bred palfrey stallion, but it was a nervous ride, and it was strong. My mother did not want me to ride it, but I begged and pleaded with my father until he gave in."

She paused. "The horse was too much for me. Even I knew that, but I was stubborn, and fearless, and told myself that it was just a case of getting used to a new mount, and that time and schooling would solve the problem. And then there was the day we rode out to the beach and the stallion bolted with me. I fought him - we were on the cliff path going down to the bay, and in trying to get control of him I unbalanced him. We both went off the edge."

"You are lucky to be alive."

"I know. The palfrey broke both his forelegs, my father had to destroy him where he fell. I was knocked unconscious. They carried me back to Highever village on a makeshift stretcher, the Revered Mother there was skilled in healing. She diagnosed broken ribs and a broken shoulder - I was flat on my back in bed for many weeks and did not ride again for over three months. And my courage had gone. I was a nervous rider even on the quietest of mounts. "

Loghain was nodding to the story. "And nobody pushed you to go on riding?"

"Not really. Mother did not ride much anyway, she preferred to travel by carriage on our infrequent visits to Denerim, so I just travelled with her. Father told me that when I was ready to try again, he would have someone find me a quiet old mount to start on. I just nodded, and didn't tell him I wasn't sure I was ever going to be ready to try again. And then a lot of things happened after that, and..." she shrugged, "we got a war, we got a Blight, it wasn't that important. We were walking everywhere anyway."

She peered up at him. "I suppose you think someone ought to have pushed me to get back into the saddle earlier?"

"No, I think Bryce should have used his brains and not allowed you to ride the horse in the first place." His smile was wry. "But as Anora's father, I rarely underestimate the power of a daughter to wheedle you into something against your better judgement."

The buildings were coming into sight, and as Loghain had predicted it was indeed beginning to rain. He pointed at the barn. "Let's get the horses in there and see how much of the roof is still intact."

The answer, surprisingly, seemed to be that the roof was still holding. Damp patches on the floor by the west wall showed where the leaks were, but most of the stone-flagged floor was dry and dusty. Loghain pointed to two rusted rings in the wall by a stone water trough set into the wall, half inside the barn, half out, apparently designed to catch rainwater from the roof and still surprisingly clean. They dismounted, unsaddled the horses and tethered them to the rings with roughly made rope halters from one of the stallion's packs. Loghain made a foray out into the rain to pull a couple of armfuls of the winter grass for the animals to browse on, returning with his hair plastered to his head with water and his shirt soaked. "Perhaps this was not one of my better ideas. Still, we can look on the bright side. We are in a dry building, we have peace and quiet, we have a stone floor and places to hang wet clothes to dry, and we came here to spar, so I would have taken my shirt off anyway." He was stripping off his shirt as he spoke, draping it over the remains of a wooden gate. "The one thing we don't have is practice blades. See if there's a couple of lengths of wood over in that corner that are roughly the right length and weight. I don't think sparring with naked blades is a good idea on your first attempt after all these weeks."

"Will those barn doors still close?" She was sorting through the wood, laying out some promising pieces of timber.

"Probably." One door was half off its hinges and the other had dropped, he dragged it round and barred it roughly with another lump of timber. "Worried about interruptions? You know as well as I do there's no spawn within the range of senses, and no man has come up that track in years by the look of it. The horses would soon tell us anyway if anyone approached."

"I was more worried about one of the horses getting untied," she returned, choosing a long stake and lashing an broken piece of wood to it as a crosshilt.

He laughed, accepted the makeshift sword and watched her make a second one for herself. "Mail off, Muirnara, you aren't fit enough yet to spar with the weight of it, you'd be gasping for air in ten minutes. Oh, and lose your boots, this floor is slippery. Better barefoot on dust than sliding on leather soles."

She dropped her dragon mail with the saddle bags and dumped the boots beside them. Slinging the small shield on her arm, she tested the weight of her own practice blade and saluted him, he returned the salute with a wry smile. "Keeping your shirt on? I fully intend to rip it to shreds by the end of the session if you do. Don't expect me to go easy on you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Any excuse to see me in a breastband, Loghain?"

"Of course, madam. I will be your husband in a couple of days after all. Would you prefer it if I did not want to look at my wife?"

"Touche." The shirt followed the mail and she faced him in her breastband and breeches, scuffing one bare foot against the dusty floor to check the surface. "Better?"

"Immensely so." Before he had finished speaking he had swung a lightning blow at her shield side, she only just got the shield up in time to block it. His laugh answered her returning lunge which he flicked away with the tip of the wooden blade. "So, madam, the reflexes are still there... But as I warned you over ten years ago, your shield is useless around your ankles. Up to your shoulder and keep it there!" A second thrust followed the words, she parried it and dropped back a pace, circling, looking for an opening.

Her next blow met his blade with a force that numbed her arm and she almost dropped the wood. Forcing her fingers to keep hold of it she was pushed onto the defensive by a series of short thrusts that she could barely keep pace with, followed by an overhand swing that had landed her in the dirt on so many previous sparring sessions. But he had drilled her too many times now in the counter for that stroke, she had half turned and thrown her shield up and the edge of the shield caught the hilt of the practice sword, only Loghain's own reflexes stopped him losing the blade. They broke apart, circled, closed again.

She was breathing heavily now, it was amazing how fast one lost fitness lying in a bed with injuries. Loghain, damn him, must have been training still in the weeks where she was not allowed to spar. His breathing had not even quickened, though a light sheen of sweat coated his muscles. The barn was surprisingly warm, the horses themselves were contributing to that, and the exertion in the still air with the door closed was doing the rest. He showed no sign of easing the pace, working through a few of his older tricks to test her memory for the counters, then trying one or two moves which he used less often. Both now had welts where a blade had momentarily slipped under their guard and she blessed his foresight in insisting that they did not used edged blades. But her tiredness was now showing, and if she did not end this soon she would be soundly drubbed once she could no longer keep up the pace.

She circled again, studying him, looking for a moment that could end the fight. He kept pace with her, waiting for her next move. There was something...wait, yes! Even now, he slightly favored the leg he had broken in the fight with the Archdemon, if she could just force his weight onto that leg, there was that uneven bit of floor... She dropped back a little, opening her guard slightly as if tiredness was forcing her to lower her shield arm - not that it was a hard thing to fake at present!

_Now will he take the bait..._

For a moment she thought he had seen through her move and was going to refuse the feint. Then he sprang forward, and she had him. As his bare foot came down on the uneven flagstone she threw herself forward at him, her entire weight behind the shield, he stumbled and was down, and she was falling too, they landed together in a heap on the stones with her blade at his throat and a smile of triumph on her dust streaked face.

"Yield, my lord."

He laughed up at her, pride in his eyes. "Excellent. You see why I spent all this time convincing you that forcing a dagger to do a shield's work was futile? But no, my lady, I do not yield, because there is something that you have forgotten."

"Oh yes? And what would that be?"

In that instant his hand had caught her wrist as he rolled onto his hip, digging iron fingers into the tendons to make her release her grasp, and somehow she was now under him, with one arm trapped underneath herself and still attached to her shield and the other wrist imprisoned. He ran his free hand caressingly down her flat stomach and she found herself giving him an encouraging whimper.

"What you have forgotten, madam, is that outside the setting of a formal duel, it is very unwise to expect your opponent to fight by the rules. Indeed, by any rules at all."

His hand was at her breastband, burrowing beneath her back to find the clasp and snap it open, tossing the garment to one side, exploring downwards to slip a hand into her breeches and cup her gently. "Perhaps, madam, you might wish to talk terms, since it appears you are now my prisoner."

She sighed as he caressed her, pressing herself against his hand, she knew he could already feel that her smallclothes were soaked under the breeches. "What would be the point? I already know what your terms are."

"Oh yes?" He had released her wrist, easing her other hand out of the shield straps and pushing the shield to one side, then kissing the scars, the kisses on the sensitive tissue made her whimper again. "And what do you consider my terms to be then?"

"The same as they always are." Her words were breathy and ended in a gasp as he removed his hand from her breeches to first unlace his own leather trousers and pull them off, then to slide her trousers and smallclothes down over her hips and strip them away to lie in a crumpled heap beside the discarded shield. "Unconditional surrender."

"How wise of you, my lady" He rolled onto his back, lifting her up to sit astride him and easing her down onto his erection with a soft chuckle as he listened to her groan and watched her hips grind against him. His hands trapped her waist, pulling her down hard against him as he thrust upwards, there was little gentleness in his moves but she did not appear to be looking for gentleness, judging by her twists against him and the wild clawing of her hands. Her shudders racked her body and they inflamed him, he drove into her with all the strength that his back could produce and her cries answered his thrusts, becoming wordless wails as one of his hands left her waist to caress the damp curls on her mound, then circle her nub with a calloused thumb. It seemed to be what she was looking for, she cried out and came in a series of frenzied bucks, and his own release was only seconds behind hers. She had collapsed forward, crouching over his chest and his arms slid around her, holding her close as she found her breath again.

He kissed her collarbone scar and ran a hand down her side, easing her down from him and into the curve of his arm. "Believe it or not, this was not what I had planned when I brought you here. But you surely did not expect me to ignore such an advantage when it was offered to me?"

"Of course not." The stone was cool against her sweating body and she could see the smears of dust on her side. "When one agrees to marry a country's greatest General, one accepts that most of the marriage is likely to be spent at a tactical disadvantage."

His laugh answered that. "And when the General already set the terms that what happens in his tent or his bedroom is his choice? What happens then when you wish to take the lead?"

Her mischievous smile was back on her face. "Oh, I don't know. I can always invite him out for a picnic in the hills? And lose anyway?"

"To me, this sounds like a plan with no drawbacks." He dropped a kiss on her forehead and then climbed to his feet. "Let's get cleaned up and investigate the picnic part of the battle plan then."

The rainwater in the trough was still winter-chilled and they both gasped as they sluiced it over themselves, rinsing off sweat and dirt. Climbing back into breeches was accomplished at speed, and Loghain cursed his still damp shirt as he pulled it on. "Oh well, it will dry on me anyway." He sat down on a broken barrel, opening the saddle bag with the food and pulling out a loaf of bread, baked with cheese and ham inside it, which he tore in half and passed a share of to Muirnara. They ate in silence for a while, as usual the Warden appetites meant that short work was made of the bread, and of the apples that followed it, withered from winter storage but still firm and sweet. Muirnara took her apple core over to feed to the roan mare, who nibbled it delicately from her palm.

"You've forgiven me for my choice of wedding gift for you, then?" Loghain was watching the woman and the horse together.

"Nothing to forgive." She pushed the mare's questing muzzle gently away from her and came back to sit beside him. "Does she have a name? I didn't ask you."

"She does. Zevran suggested I changed it."

"Why?"

"Because her name is Rose. And he said that the gift of a rose is something that might stir other memories for you."

She did not pretend not to know what he was talking about. "Back in the autumn, Loghain, it might have hurt. A lot of things hurt back then. But we are in the Thaw, and the world is turning towards spring, and not much has the power to hurt me now. I love you. I chose you. And I love the gift you chose for me. The name Rose suits her very well indeed."

Loghain let out a half sigh that told her he had been less certain of her response than he had admitted. "I am glad. I'm not much of a romantic, Muirnara, as well you know. This is probably the nearest you will ever get to me offering you flowers."

She smiled at that and placed a hand over his. "I have something for you too. I hadn't exactly planned to give it to you now, but it seems as good a time as any." She delved into her own pack and extracted a long narrow shape wrapped in soft leather which she passed to him.

He unfolded the leather and caught his breath at what was inside. The treated dragonskin of scabbard and belt gleamed an oily black in the shadows of the barn, the white of the dragonbone buckle shone. The design of the buckle first drew his attention, but then his eye traced down the scabbard. "These letters..." He ran a finger down them. "What do they say?"

Her voice was soft, making music of the Old Tevinter language. "**Et lux in tenebris lucet et tenebrae eam non comprehenderunt**." She paused. "It is a part of the oldest version of the Chant of Light that we know, and it has had more different translations than any other part." She paused again, and then translated it. "**And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not."**

She touched the scabbard gently. "Wade thought it highly appropriate for the scabbard that bears a blade that shines with blue light in the presence of Darkspawn. I told him it had nothing to do with the blade. That the tribute was to a man who had twice been the light of a nation in the times of that nation's greatest darkness."

She looked at him, and he could see that she had been as uncertain of her gift to him as he had been about the mare, she had traces of tears in her eyes and all he could do was take Maric's blade out of its worn scabbard and slide it carefully into the new one, then take her in his arms and kiss the tears away as lingerly and as thoroughly as he knew how.

When, many hours later, the rain stopped and they rode away from the little farm in the hills in the glittering light of a sunset after rain, Muirnara looked back over her shoulder at the buildings. "I wonder - if we could trace who the place actually belonged to, whether we could buy it from them? Rebuild the house, have somewhere that we could go off to when things just became too much? Neither of us will ever be given the time out of the public eye, but having a place to go, just for a while, which was just ours would be...good."

"I'll talk to Anora. So you have occasional yearnings to be a simple farmer's wife? With chickens at the door, and cows in the byre, and no greater demands being made of you than worrying about whether the next batch of butter would churn well?"

Her face was wistful. "It would never work. But it would be nice to be able to pretend."

"It would."

Behind them, the woods closed around the house in the hills, and sealed it away from time again. Sleeping in rainwashed peace.


End file.
